Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. For on reaching the second floor, a swishing sound came to Gerald’s ears, as of someone moving about. He had meant to be master of his fate that evening and it had escaped him altogether. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. ” He leaned back for his soup. If you know her for the vicious, scheming wretch that she is, why in God’s name—?’ ‘She’s not a vicious, scheming wretch,’ Gerald said calmly. I've seen many a clever cracksman, but never one like him.
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